Draconite
by Lpandora
Summary: Mikasa is the last of her bloodline. She's about to find out what that really means. Set in HOGWARTS. RIVAMIKA. future M.
1. between a second and a second

A/N: Hi I don't do A/N's much but I would like to preface this entire shitstorm of a story by saying that 1) this is a big departure from my usual style and length of writing and 2) I'm getting the plot out of my brain at a very high velocity because the story takes precedence for this sort of thing so my writing will be very very different, A LOT more careless and pedestrian. BUT I REALLY WANTED TO TELL THIS STORY AND THIS IS THE ONLY WAY...! Otherwise I get too bogged down in the writing and lose interest :(

This chapter is a prologue, taking place during Mikasa's first year at Hogwarts. Once the first year stuff is out of the way (which will happen quickly) there will be a timeskip so no worries about prepubescent ick. Thank you for your patience!

With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing!

* * *

**DRACONITE**

**Chapter 0. between a second and a second**

* * *

In the fall months of her first year the upperclassmen began whispering of a silent wraith that haunted the north tower. Not two days had passed when her Gryffindor of a brother got himself flung down the northern stairs into a two-week coma. When Eren rejoined the waking, Deputy Headmaster Grisha Yeager dropped by the Gryffindor table during breakfast, shoved a howler in Eren's hands, and ambled away as his fiery vows to transfer his son to Durmstrang thundered about the Great Hall.

Although Professor Yeager was furious, he did not lodge a single complaint against the north tower ghost who had very nearly killed his son. Hours and hours of dark, indignant thoughts churned in Mikasa's head before she decided to take _justice_ into her hands. Past curfew one night, she tiptoed out the dungeons and crept past the shadows in search of the north tower.

"What on earth is up here_, _anyway?" she muttered as she stole up the dusty stairs. The walls rang cold and hollow.

Just as she brushed a cracked step, a deep, alien snarl overcame her like a shock of frost:

**_Insolent brat. _**

"Who's there?!" said Mikasa.

Losing grip of her wand, she seized the banister, heels trembling over the narrow steps. Coldness wrapped her bones then—but not her bones—not wrapped—no, it bloomed deep in her marrows, gripped her jaw tight and blue, slowed the fog of her stormy gasps, darkened the corners of her eyes.

**_You hear me?_**

"Who—what are you?" said Mikasa. Her wand, her wand, but no, her fingers were fire and ice, and her mind, she wanted to shove it out of her mind, how could it be so cold in her mind—

**_Tell me your name._**

**_And I will set you free._**

So cold. Colder than the gallows of song and sight.

"…_Mikasa_," she said.

The slowness left her then. Her spirit felt light against the cool, hollow draft. She clung to the banister, shaking. But in spite of all anticipation, in spite of all hope and doubt, all unbearable desire to _know_, the strange, inhuman world that had finally stirred fell silent once more.

* * *

After Tuesday Transfiguration, she caught up with Eren and recounted her strange fright.

"You _spoke with it?!_"

Mikasa chewed. The terrible voice had drowned out the thundering of her heart, but it never once rung in her ears. This she was certain of. (And the cold. The cold. Her bones.)

"Mikasa—didn't you hear? It's worse than the Bloody Baron, it's _cursed!_" Eren shivered, bouncing on his heels. "It hasn't let people in the bloody tower for _centuries! _It doesn't even _pretend_ to get along with the other ghosts. _No one's_ heard from it, and no one's been able to do a thing about it! Look, I've asked Sir Nick, and I've talked to all the Third Years in my House, I swear, _no one's_ heard of anyone actually _speaking _to it_—_"

"Eren," said Mikasa. "Your spit is getting on my face."

"Oh. Sorry," said Eren. "But still! You've got to see, Mikasa, if what you're saying is true, then this…this is _really__ bad._"

Mikasa lifted her head.

"Why?"

"Because the last time someone heard it speak," said Eren, "that person died."

* * *

"I'm not sure Mikasa should be fearing for her life," said Armin.

Mikasa played with a corner of her sandwich, watching leaf-shadows flicker in her lap. A giant tentacle broke above the lake to chase the water birds away.

"Think about it," said Armin. "It's just a stupid rumor the older students are circulating to prank us. Honestly, Eren. Headmaster Smith would never allow an actual danger to remain in the castle. It's simply too risky. The Board would've sacked him a long time ago. And besides," he jabbed a finger in Eren's face, "if you really believed that dying was a possibility, then _why_ did you try to enter the tower in the first place? Do you understand how Mikasa and I felt when Doctor—when Professor Yeager told us that you fell down all those flights of stairs, that you weren't waking up?"

"…I was just curious," muttered Eren. He shifted under the weight of Armin's eyes.

"You had all of us in a terrible fright, Eren," said Armin. "You've simply got to stop rushing into these things."

"I agree with Armin," said Mikasa. "If you're going to do stupid things, don't do them on your own."

"Okay! Okay! Bloody hell, I'm sorry! I won't! Again!" said Eren. "Why are we talking about me, anyway? Weren't we just agreeing that Mikasa's life could be in serious danger?"

"No," said Armin.

"I can take care of myself, Eren," said Mikasa, and that was the end of it. "You just concentrate on finishing Professor Zoe's essay. Doctor's orders."

"Ugh. Don't remind me." Eren sighed. "He hasn't nagged at me as much recently, though. Thank Merlin."

Tossing her sandwich to the tentacle dancing in the lake, Mikasa gathered her books and shook out her sleepy left leg.

"Heading back to the dungeons?" said Armin.

"Gross," said Eren.

"I agree," said Mikasa. "And yes."

"I think I'll return to the library, too," said Armin. "I'm meeting with a few other First-Years from my House. We're brushing up on Zdzislaw's intermediate theory of pigment hierarchies in textile transfiguration before we head over to class in the afternoon."

"Gross," said Eren.

* * *

If she were honest, Mikasa never expected to find companionship in Slytherin House. When she stepped away from the Hat the evening of her Sorting, a thick of whispers greeted her. Only when the second student was sorted to raucous stamping and clapping did she understand that she was unwelcome.

"Oi, Ackerman," an older boy had drawled at her, as she was preparing to lift her knife and fork. "Merlin knows why _you're_ in Slytherin, since none of us want you here. The Hat must be going senile. But hey," he sneered, "you're an _Ackerman._ You probably—ha—_saw that coming!_ And you still have the nerve to show up in our school, at our House!"

The whole table exploded in jeers then. She remembered trembling, lowering her head, feeling Eren and Armin and Dr. Yeager's eyes on her, feeling their fury thrum above the din.

And it hurt. It hurt in every limb, every bone, every shred of breath. She had never been given a chance to explain. And even if she were, she wouldn't know where to begin. All her life none of them ever told her why they hated her. They simply did.

_Ackerman, _they shouted.

_Ackerman._

_Ackerman._

"Ackerman!"

Mikasa snapped awake. Leonhardt hovered over her, arms and eyebrows crossed.

"Get it together already," she snapped. "We're going to be late for Potions. Lenz is already waiting downstairs. I don't want to become Zoe's test subject if I can help it."

In the first week of classes, Eren had arrived eight minutes late to Potions, interrupting Professor Zoe's specially-prepared dramatic enactment of star-crossed lovers imbibing the Draught of Living Death.

No one was late to Potions after that.

"Got it," said Mikasa.

This was typical Leonhardt, as she had come to recognize in a month of being her bed-neighbor and potions partner. Cold and curt. Compared to the other girls, however, she was far easier to get along with. She didn't give a damn about Mikasa being an Ackerman. In fact, she didn't seem to give a damn about other people at all.

Mikasa appreciated that. She could do worse than pick up a thing or two from Annie Leonhardt.

"There you are!" chirped Lenz from the foot of the stairs. "That's good, I think we can make it in time. We still have fifteen minutes."

"Hey, _Ackerman_," said a Fourth-Year by the fireplace, "running late for Divination?"

"Furnunculus," said Leonhardt.

"How did you know that spell?" said Mikasa, as they leapt out of their common room, dodging hexes and cries of adolescent anguish.

"That was brilliant," said Lenz. "The blackheads were a nice touch."

"Don't mention it," said Leonhardt.

They crossed the threshold with five minutes to spare. Lenz located her partner, a strange girl named Blaus who ate more than she breathed. Last week she even gobbled up some of the assigned potions ingredients, nearly costing her and Lenz their grade. Mikasa couldn't imagine how anyone would find pickled slugs appetizing, let alone edible.

As Mikasa hauled her cauldron into place, she caught—no. Professor Zoe caught _her _eye. There was the usual manic gleam. But something more, too, something hidden, something unsettling. She couldn't look away. And suddenly her bones shivered, as if caught in a strange, deep cold.

"I'M HERE!" said Eren.

"TEN POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!" said Professor Zoe.

Mikasa blinked. Just now, did something happen…?

Wrapping her arms in her robes, she chewed her sleeve, and decided to put off the whole matter for later. Perhaps she would visit the north tower tonight. It was possible the whole night was a strange dream, a warped manifestation of her bitter thoughts, but...

_**I will set you free.**_

She jolted. Leonhardt asked her if she needed to go to the hospital wing, she's been so pale and jumpy lately.

No.

In a part of her she could neither find nor explain, she knew the voice would come to her again.

And when it did, she would be ready.

* * *

_So it's her, hmm. _

Professor Zoe looked over the girl as she diced her roots and de-legged her spiders. Mikasa Ackerman. Yes, there was something uncanny about Mikasa Ackerman, in the blacks of her eyes. But she wouldn't have honed in on it if Headmaster Smith hadn't asked her to.

Mikasa Ackerman. Last of her bloodline. Placed under the care of the Yeagers since infancy.

And now…

Deputy Headmaster Grisha Yeager was missing.

And the north tower of Hogwarts was waking.

Headmaster Smith told her to keep an eye on Mikasa Ackerman. Headmaster Smith knew far more than he was revealing. But even if he told her all of it she wouldn't know what to do with any of it. That was why Hogwarts needed someone like Erwin Smith.

For now, she could only watch. Wait.

Even if she couldn't shake off the strange darkness bleeding into the shadows of her dungeon.

* * *

_TBC_


	2. sixth sword ascending

**DRACONITE**

**I. sixth sword ascending**

* * *

Grisha Yeager brushed the cool length of bark. In this dark, silent cave stood the oldest of Yews, unknown to sky or sea.

Five years he had scoured the corners of magic for this revelation, which had seemed lost to lore. None knew the true nature of his research but Erwin Smith, who understood the great necessity of his mission, who owed him all secrecy for delivering the Ackerman child into his protection all those years ago.

Grisha Yeager knelt and combed the soil for the veins that grasped the world. Between his mind and his teeth lay the lost tongue of the dead, restless to find an ear once more.

_Wait for me, Carla._

Shaking, he brought his wand to his wrist. His blood trickled into the roots of the world.

_Gatekeeper._

The earth cracked. Grisha dug in his wand until it touched tendon and bone. He could not falter now.

_Blood of man. Blood of soul. _

_Open._

Then the world was smoke and scream and descending earth and sky.

When the echoes died he left the ground, trembling, and squinted past the red dust. Where the Yew once towered, older than man, lay a black stone, small and sharp, glittering.

_The resurrection stone._

"Carla," he gasped, crawling to his prize. His prize. "Carla!"

Latching around the stone, he lifted it to his mouth, and whispered his heart's truest desire.

_Grisha…_

"Carla?" He shouted.

_Grisha…_

"I'm here, Carla! Where are you?"

Left—no. Right—no. Up—no. The ceiling was cracking, the walls were coming down, his hands were growing warm, where _was she_—

_Run…_

"C-Carla?!"

_**Run!**_

He stopped. Looked down. The stone in his hands gleamed white.

"What…?"

Then it shot out of his grip. Dug into the red of his eyes.

The cave buried his screams.

* * *

"Sir Nick!" said Eren.

"Greetings, young Eren," said Sir Nicholas. "How may I be of service today?"

Throwing a glance about the corridor, Eren found a secluded crevice, and gestured for the ghost to follow.

"My friend's spoken with it, Sir Nick," whispered Eren. "The ghost of the northern tower."

Sir Nicholas looked at him for a very long second. Then he leaned so far into him that his teeth began to chatter.

"You're certain of this, young Eren?"

"I'm certain," said Eren. "She would never lie to me about something like this."

Sir Nicholas stared into his eyes. He felt a gulp form. For the first time since he befriended the jovial ghost, he felt the weight of his centuries.

"Who is this person you speak of?"

"Mikasa. Mikasa Ackerman." Pause. "She's sort of like family. She's a first-year too, but she's in Slytherin—"

"_Ackerman?"_

Eren shuddered. Then he felt a little angry. A little angrier. Her whole life Mikasa had never had an easy time of it, what with her parents unknown, and the whole of bloody Hogwarts acting as if she were the scum of the earth. He never understood why everyone treated her differently after learning her name, but he never thought Sir Nicholas would have had a problem with it, too.

"Yeah, _Ackerman._"Eren bared his teeth. "What's wrong with that?"

"Oh, young Eren." Sir Nicholas shook his head. "I meant no offense to you…or your friend." Drifting to the window, he lifted a finger to the pane, and gazed as it frosted. "I simply have not heard the name for a very long time." Pause. "Not since…"

"Since what?"

Sir Nicholas sighed.

"Since the last of them passed."

Eren's blood drummed in his ears. "What d'you mean, the last of them?"

_Died?_

A blink and Sir Nicholas was leaning into him again. He swallowed a shriek.

"You must be careful, young Eren," said Sir Nicholas, resting a silvery hand on his shoulder. "Terrible things are waking today. Do not seek them out."

"You're scaring me," said Eren.

He ran and ran. Tumbling into his quarters, he bundled into his unmade bed. But the hairs on his arms stood stiff, as if the cold hand never left him.

* * *

_**Find…Find…**_

_**Mikasa—**_

She jolted.

_Where—where am I?_

Under her frantic fingers she felt cotton sheets and cool night air. Her bed. The quarters. Leonhardt snoring again. Moonlight through the dusty glass. She only dreamt it. The voice. White eyes.

_White eyes? _

No. The tower. The tower. The cold and the cracks. It wouldn't leave her. She had to go to it. She had to find it again.

Fumbling with her shoes and steps with as little sound as she could manage, she slipped out the dungeons and scampered for the tower. Twice she nearly stumbled into a patrolling prefect, but she was as quick as she was small, and took cover in dusty crevices where the gleam of _lumos_ could not reach.

And there it was.

But something held her by the entryway. Should she seek it again? Could she?

The cold. The cold. It was so cold.

But different.

She swung her wand. Froze.

The Bloody Baron looked at her, into her. His chains clattered with an unknown wind.

"_Mikasa Ackerman."_

She clutched her wand.

"_Time. Love. Thought."_ He circled her, chains rattling over the stone floor. "_What are these?"_

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop the shake in her voice.

"...Mysteries."

"_Perhaps._" They held her then, those hollow eyes. "_But are they truly?_"

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

"_When blood and blood have broken_," he rasped;

"_When night and night reopen,_

_When the eye has found the hand,_

_When the eye has found his hand,_

_When the fire finds the liar,_

_When the fire finds the pyre,_

_Then the sixth sword shall ascend,_

_Then the first sword shall unbend,_

_And the middle holds the end,_

_And the middle shall be end."_

He pressed a cold hand to her cheek.

"_Do not forget_."

And he vanished.

Mikasa stood at the entryway for a long time. She didn't know what to think, what to make of the sudden spectre, the sudden words, their sudden cadence, the long, deep ringing in her being.

_And the middle shall be end…_

The first stone step beckoned her to find its cracks. She fled.

* * *

"_So you came."_

"So I did," said Headmaster Smith. Dust, dancing, veiled his moonlit face. "What of your visit?"

"_A call,"_ said the Baron. _"Necessity."_

"I am told," said Headmaster Smith, "that prophecies are no longer made."

"_Men are told much."_

He pressed the furrow of his brows. "Tell me I did not just bear witness to a prophecy."

"_I am but a vessel," _said the Baron. _"The mysteries are the domain of the middle. I speak as it speaks."_

"I see," said Headmaster Smith. "Thank you."

The Baron faded into the wall.

Headmaster Smith nearly ran then. "Marie_,_" he said, and the gargoyles parted. Raising his hands to the shelves that lined his office, he called forth his pensieve. Then he eyed his tomes. Only one might contain a clue to understanding the impossibility he had just witnessed.

"Grisha…" he said. "Where are you?"

* * *

**A HISTORY OF MAGIC**

6TH EDITION

BY

BATHILDA BAGSHOT

ILLUSTRATIONS BY THOMAS M. RIDDLE

M.L. BOOKS

* * *

CHAPTER 14. THE DECLINE OF THE ARCANE ARTS, 1886-1894

THE WIZARDING PUBLIC HAS TRADITIONALLY VIEWED THE ARCANE ARTS OF DIVINATION (i.e., PROPHECY, CARTOMANCY, CRYSTAL-GAZING) WITH SUSPICION AND SKEPTICISM. NEVERTHELESS, THE PRACTICE OF DIVINATION WAS NOT PROHIBITED UNTIL THE END OF THE UNHOLY WAR IN 1894.

.

THE ARCANE ARTS FIRST AROSE IN GREAT BRITAIN DURING THE ELEVENTH CENTURY. DECLINING MORTALITY RATES, RISING POPULATION NUMBERS, AND GROWING TRADE BETWEEN THE WIZARDING SETTLEMENTS OF GREAT BRITAIN CONTRIBUTED TO GREATER SPECIALIZATION OF SKILLS AMONG THE MAGICAL POPULACE. IN THE PROCESS, A NEW BREED OF WIZARDS, CALLING THEMSELVES "SEERS," CAME INTO PROMINENCE. CLAIMING THE ABILITY TO DIVINE THE FUTURE AND UNCOVER THE DEEPEST MYSTERIES OF SORCERY, SEERS PROMISED FORTUNE AND FAVOR TO THEIR PATRONS. OVER A SHORT SPAN OF THREE DECADES, SEER "CLANS" CROPPED UP ALL OVER GREAT BRITAIN, VYING FOR POSITIONS OF POWER AND WEALTH. CONTEMPORARY HISTORIANS AGREE THAT MOST OF THESE CLANS' FORTUNES FLOATED ON FRAUDULENT CLAIMS OF SUPRA-MAGICAL PROWESS.

.

THE MOST PROMINENT OF THE SEER CLANS WAS THE ACKERMAN CLAN, WHICH COMPRISED THE SIX GREAT SEER BLOODLINES OF GREAT BRITAIN. FOR CENTURIES, THE ACKERMAN CLAN PLAYED A UNIQUE ROLE IN SHAPING WIZARDING CULTURE, COMMERCE, AND EVEN DIPLOMACY. IN 1695, HEINRICH JORGE ACKERMAN IV OF THE FOURTH ACKERMAN LINE FAMOUSLY PROPHESIED THE GREAT WAR BETWEEN MAGICAL GREAT BRITAIN AND JAPAN. IT OCCURRED NEARLY TWO CENTURIES LATER (1833-1849). PUBLIC OFFICIALS WHO HAD THEN FOLLOWED THE ACKERMAN PROPHECIES FOUND TREMENDOUS SUCCESS IN HANDLING THE ENSUING POLITICAL CRISES.

.

THE CLAN'S FORTUNES BEGAN TO TAKE A TURN FOR THE WORST WHEN CLAN HEAD KENDALL J. ACKERMAN OF THE FIRST ACKERMAN LINE MURDERED BRITISH MINISTER OF MAGIC REGINALD MALFOY IN AUGUST OF 1886, DURING ONE OF THE MINISTER'S SPEAKING ENGAGEMENTS. THE BRUTAL INCIDENT SPARKED A LONG CIVIL WAR THAT NEARLY EXTINGUISHED A QUARTER OF MAGICAL BRITAIN'S POPULATION.

.

THE UNHOLY WAR, SO NAMED FOR THE ALLIANCE BETWEEN THE ACKERMAN CLAN AND THE MIDDLEMEN, THREATENED TO DEMOLISH THE VERY FOUNDATIONS OF MAGICAL BRITAIN. TO THIS DAY, NO ONE CAN SAY WHO LED THE MIDDLEMEN, OR WHY THE MIDDLEMEN SOUGHT SUCH WANTON DESTRUCTION. PRIMARY SOURCE DOCUMENTS INDICATE THAT MANY UPSTANDING WIZARDS AND WITCHES INEXPLICABLY DEFECTED IN SUPPORT OF THE MIDDLEMEN EFFORT. "IT IS AS IF SOMEONE HAS CAST A GREAT _IMPERIUS_ CURSE UPON OUR NATION," CRIED THE HEADLINES OF THE DAY. DESPITE NUMEROUS DIAGNOSTIC SPELLS PERFORMED ON CAPTURED MIDDLEMEN, NO TRACE OF THE _IMPERIUS_ WAS EVER DETECTED BY THE AUROR FORCES.

.

THE CIVIL WAR ABRUPTLY ENDED IN SUMMER OF 1894, WHEN THE MIDDLEMEN COLLECTIVELY LOST THEIR WILL TO DEFECT. NUMEROUS ACCOUNTS OF CONFUSED INDIVIDUALS RETURNING TO THEIR SPOUSES AND CHILDREN IN TEARS WERE RECORDED AND PUBLISHED. SOON, MANY BEGAN TO ACCUSE THE ACKERMAN CLAN OF USING ARCANE MAGICKS TO BEND THE WILLS OF UPSTANDING WITCHES AND WIZARDS TO THE SERVICE OF A HEINOUS CAUSE.

.

WITH ALL OF MAGICAL BRITAIN UNITED AGAINST THEM, EACH MEMBER OF THE CLAN WAS CHARGED WITH TREASON, MURDER, AND WANTON DESTRUCTION. ALL WERE CONDEMNED TO EXILE. NEVERTHELESS, THE CLAN'S LONG-STANDING TIES TO THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC ENSURED THAT ONLY THE HEADS OF EACH LINE WERE SENTENCED TO THE KISS, TO APPEASE THE PUBLIC'S THIRST FOR BLOOD.

.

AFTER THE LOSS OF ITS LEADERS, THE CLAN WAS UNABLE TO MUSTER ENOUGH INFLUENCE TO PREVENT THE PASSAGE OF LEGISLATURE THAT PROHIBITED THE CONTINUED PRACTICE OF DIVINATION AND THE ARCANE ARTS.* AS PUBLIC FURY CONTINUED TO ESCALATE, MANY REMAINING MEMBERS OF THE CLAN WERE PERSECUTED HEAVILY. THE SIX BLOODLINES GRADUALLY DIED OUT IN THE EARLY 20TH CENTURY, AND THE SECRETS OF THE MIDDLEMEN WITH THEM.

.

TODAY, THE ACKERMAN CLAN AND THE ARCANE ARTS REMAIN TABOO SUBJECTS IN POPULAR IMAGINATION. FEW KNOWN BEARERS OF THE NAME ACKERMAN REMAIN, BUT THOSE WHO DO ARE LEGALLY AND MAGICALLY BARRED FROM CHANGING THEIR NAMES, SO THAT THEY MAY NEVER FORGET THE GREAT BLOOD CRIMES OF THEIR FOREBEARERS. (FOR MORE DETAILS ON THE FORMER SIX SEER LINES OF ACKERMAN, PLEASE REFER TO PAGES 237 TO 239.)

* * *

*THE LAST REGISTERED SEER WAS HOGWARTS DIVINATION PROFESSOR LEVI ACKERMAN (1865-1894), THEN-SUCCESSOR TO THE FIRST ACKERMAN LINE. HE PERISHED IN THE WAR.

* * *

_That last part was fun to write._

_TBC – leave a review!_

_EDITED July 11, 2014. _


	3. where there is smoke

**DRACONITE**

**II. where there is smoke **

* * *

Of the voices that rung in the castle she learned to hear the walls first. Or rather they had come to her. She hadn't known to hide, to procure a crumb of a crevice where they hadn't rooted their song in the very stuff of years. The Doctor was gone, they whispered, in cracks that flowered free and far. Or rather she found the words in them, no, not words, the cracks were a music all their own. As far as she could tell. At the very least no one else seemed to, any better than she did. So if the walls spoke to her, if they wanted to speak to her, she would listen.

If Professor Yeager was still gone by the summer he would arrange for them to become temporary wards of the school, said Headmaster Smith, three-and-a-quarter months after Doctor Yeager had vanished from the Greenhouse and Eren and her. No owls. Perhaps he ran off on a research expedition, said Professor Zoe. Perhaps it was an urgent development; perhaps he had no choice but to leave that way.

Eren was eleven then.

She and Eren lost Mama when they were six. Eren had cried and cried and cried, had thown her toy broomstick in the fire, told her it was _his_ Mama who just died and _she_ wasn't allowed to cry. (Don't cry.) She had bit her tongue then, wrapped her longer arms around him, wrapped the black scarf Mama knitted her last Christmas around his raw throat. Swore to protect him so that he would never have to cry and cry and cry again.

When Headmaster Smith came to them in the summer she said nothing. Perhaps she should have, because the walls, the walls, why would they tell her about Doctor Yeager? Why would they tell her at all? But Eren had looked about to cry, and she hadn't wanted to tell him that the walls had told her, all those moon-cracks ago. She hadn't believed them then. Perhaps if she had Eren wouldn't have looked about to cry then but she didn't. She couldn't. She didn't know how the walls spoke to her but she knew that they shouldn't have. (_Yes_,_ Miss Dreyse?) (Professor Shadis, how could_ _they have killed so many of us? How did they do it?) (…Well, Miss Dreyse.) _No. She couldn't tell. Walls speak to the dead.

On a lazy morning in the winter of her second year she turned to the window and saw Doctor Yeager's eyes bleeding in the frost. She screamed and dove under a chair. When she looked up it was bright and cold.

(That evening: _I don't care what you say. He's coming back. You'll see, Mikasa!_

_I don't _want_ to wear that stupid scarf, I've got my Gryffindor one and it's fine. Why do you care so much?_

_Stop hanging around me so much. It's embarrassing._

_Don't you have friends in Slytherin?_)

In her third year she was tracing the movements of Jupiter in her Astronomy journal when she saw, through the pinprick of her telescope, six red moons like eyes. She threw the journal into the fire. It crackled and coiled in bright white curls before dissolving into ash. Annie refused to lend her notes. (_Are you sure Blaus's botched potion didn't get to your head?)_

In her fourth year the salt she spread over her scrambled eggs and toast hissed Eren's name. She skipped breakfast for two weeks. (Eren left for Braun and Hoover, but she watched him all the same. He burned hard and cold, red and black. Never white.)

In her fifth year she closed her eyes in the heat of dark and saw hell descending, quiet, snow-like. She woke to her bed in flames. The ghosts fled at her feet.

In her sixth year the leaves that tumbled in fall whispered in her ear and found eyes in the grass. She stopped coming to Armin's picnics. Burned every song that tangled in her hair.

But they spoke to her inside-out, outside-in. In her seventh year the wind began to prophesy. She closed her eyes and shut her dreams in words.

* * *

Mikasa liked to fly. She was good at it, too, far better than he or Eren or those tittering twits from Slytherin whose sole enjoyment in life, after _seven_ years, was to make Mikasa feel lousy. But Mikasa had to leave them behind. She learned to fly. He felt happy for her. Mikasa was a good friend to him. But he wasn't a good friend to her, no. He could be. But the truth is neither of them were kind people. The world didn't deserve kind people. He wished he were kind.

His first and second year he had squandered trying to patch the frayed edges of their friendships, the hole left by loss. To his credit he tried. No—discredit. He learned better. Eren was fire and fury and burned his pleading hands. Mikasa spun deep into her dreams and her darkness. He watched her crumble. Even if Master Smith hadn't ordered him to he would have done it all the same. Selfish. Every day he betrayed her to the cause but he still wanted her friendship. So he said nothing. Saw everything. You see in his third year his Grandfather passed on, suddenly, terribly. Not illness, no, but darkness, the kind that crept in the alleys of the world and flickered in fire. Headmaster Smith understood it. He enlisted him then. You have potential, Headmaster Smith had said. The cause is difficult; the need is great. And so Headmaster Smith became Master Smith. And so began the forking way of water, of transparency, of becoming less than Armin and more than the rest of it.

Mikasa is the key, Master Smith had said. For an instant he was brought back to his bones, the anxiety and the trembling, the deep, darkening. But he clambered and heaved above his roots. I will learn her, he had promised. I will learn all of it.

So he talked to her. Listened. Found the madness in her eyes, the fire in her falling. Eren burned aside. Mikasa trembled, and though Armin stood by her, he was not with her, not truly, not the way he had been all those summers ago. Or rather she had left him, slowly, sadly, for a world of song and shadow, where the moon led the seasons and the leaves spoke of dusk. He didn't know. He could only listen.

Tell me what she has seen, Headmaster Smith had said. He recalled the specter that haunted her diary, the eyes and the fire. The walls and the falling. Humanity for humanity, he thought, and spoke of madness.

* * *

I'll find him.

I'll find him. I'll find him. I'll find him.

I'll find him. I'll find him. I'll find him. I'll find him. I'll find him. I'll find him.

I'll find him.

I'll find him.

Dad, wait for me. You've got to. I know you're out there. Reiner and Berthold told me. Only they know the truth. Only they understand. They've lost lots, too, Dad. You'd like them, I think. They know the truth. They're searching. I'm helping them, because they're helping me. I'll find you. I'll find it and I'll kill it and I'll find you. Wait for me, Dad. Everyone else has forgotten, and I won't forgive them. I won't give up on you just yet. I won't. I wont. I won't.

* * *

"All men have assembled, my Redeemer. We shall claim the victory that has been delayed for far too long."

"_D__o not be hasty, child. We must take care of one last thing._"

"Is it—?"

"_Yes._ _How have you progressed on the fire?"_

"There is blood and there is ash. It is ready."

The Darkness cast a grey hand about the indigo fire. It grew icy beneath his touch.

"_Take cover_."

Treading into the fire, he turned his white eyes skyward, past the cracks of the heavens, and found flight.

* * *

Mikasa woke cold and breathless. She couldn't keep up—they kept coming, throttling her sleep. But this time it was different. She scrambled for her diary, and ruffled through the blotchy, mad pages she had kept through the years. A quill. The world for a quill. White eyes. Darkness. Another man, old and bearded, armed in black. A grey world where color was power. Fire. Blood and ash. Fire. Six swords coming for her. Fire.

_Six swords—?_

She jumped in the nick of time. They shot from the ceiling and pierced the stone floor at her feet. Everyone remained asleep. Under an enchantment. Fuck. She had to run. The walls and the wind screamed. RUN!

Seizing her broom, she shot down the stairs. The common room was empty, save for Annie, who had dozed off by the fire with a book in hand. She paused, wondering if she should pull her friend out of danger, but just then the fire roared past the frame of the mantel and touched the roof of the dungeon.

"_Show yourself!"_ she said.

White eyes flickered in the flame.

_You will die tonight._

"NOT TONIGHT," said Mikasa. She touched her lips, unsure of the words that had tumbled forth with such clarity. But she regained her bearings and swerved out of the dungeons, begging her broom to make haste.

_The tower. You must go_. The wind sung soft and cool. The Darkness chased behind.

"Shit, hurry, hurry you shit—there!" she said.

The Northern Tower.

She saw herself all those years ago then, when her dreams were simple and the worst things she heard were lies. The girl and the voice.

As if time had died and come to life, the Bloody Baron appeared by the archway, rattling his chains with a crooked grin. "_Do not forget_," he rasped, and disappeared. She bit back a scream. The Darkness licked at her toes, taking some of her with it.

"Reducto," she said, but it swallowed her voice. No. No time for petty spellwork. She had to—the tower—

Trembling, she shot up the stairs, grasping her life in her hands. Beneath her the steps grew hot and white. Beyond her was light. The Darkness began to bleed from her feet and her mind. She soared, warm and light, and fell into a song of freedom.

_YOU WHO TRESPASS THE LIVING_

_YOU WHO SEEK TO UNBALANCE THE WORLDS_

_YOU WHO HERALD THE FRACTURE OF THE REALMS_

_BEGONE_

As the Darkness shattered with an unearthly shriek, Mikasa collapsed from her broom, tumbling onto flat stone. The song burned behind her eyes and filled the cracks of her mind. When the world came to silence she lifted her head, shaking, and was greeted by a strange apparition.

In the sparse, hollow room before her stood a young man, short and dark-haired, dressed in a cut of robe she had only seen in portraits and history books. He stared at her. She stared at him.

"You're Mikasa," he said.

"You're no ghost," she said.

* * *

Annie gazed into the fire. She had been awake. Had felt the dark fire grazing her neck. The dark power.

_I'll fulfill my promise, Father._

Climbing to the quarters, she stopped by Mikasa's bed. On the floor: a notebook, and steel crumbling to ash.

"I'm sorry, Mikasa."

Tucking the notebook in her robes, she swallowed the years, and opened her eyes to the gentle indifference of the world.

* * *

To be continued…

Leave a review ;) Let me know what you liked, and what you hope to see more of!


	4. animation

**Draconite**

**III. animation**

* * *

Not a ghost. Or not quite. About him sung the walls, the wind, the leaves that cut her toes. But there were no leaves here, no virtue or vein, only sound and fury. The song beneath his eyes. She mapped its downward stream. The world was grey and moonlit, no, not the world, his eyes. She knew the path. She couldn't look away. The song beneath her eyes.

_**I will set you free.**_

It came to her like frost. She stood, slow but sharp, and raised her wand.

"Who are you?" she said.

"You are needed, Mikasa," he said. And he was in front of her, over her, pulling taut the line of his stone-grey gaze. His lids, heavy and creased, seemed affixed to his skull, and imparted to her the impression of Headmaster Smith's gargoyles.

"By whom?" she said. "How do you know my name?"

He seized her by her wrists. Startled, she made to pull away, but—

_His hands…_

They tugged over the thin skin of her wrists but held little weight. Rather than the warm rasp of skin, she felt a light touch akin to a graze of silk and smoke .

"I am sealed from the realm of the corporeal. I should not be able—to do this. To see you. Speak to you." He traced the veins in her forearms. She curled her fingers. "But you. You hear me. You understand my touch. And I know your name." He drew her in his path. "Mikasa."

She pushed away.

"All those years ago. It was you," she said.

"You shouldn't have been able to enter, then," he said, and she flinched at the snarl of it. "You shouldn't have been able to hear my voice. None of this should have happened."

"What—"

"But the worst has come to past. And you, _Mikasa_…"

He leaned into her, seeking. She stepped back, wand to his chest, until she collided against wall. He did not walk like man or ghost, but swept across the barren floor like mist, here now, there then. His eyes spoke of danger.

"Get away from me," she said. The air choked and the walls shrieked. His eyes, his eyes, she couldn't move-

"You're going to help me, Mikasa," he said, winding his cold shadow hand around her head, his words around her fear.

"Why should I." She dug her wand into his Adam's apple. But he seemed not to feel it, and leaned deeper.

"You're going to, whether you want to or not," he said. The music of it settled in her heart like stone.

_No. _

"You can't make me."

"On the contrary. I saved your life, girl," he said. "And what does that mean?"

_No._

"Honestly. What do they teach the brats these days? The once-great institution of magical education." He sneered. "To think I'd return to witness its demise."

No.

"But your life isn't in—you're not alive, are you?" _Is he?_ "There's no way—I don't owe you a life debt. I can't." She bared her teeth. But a strange cold fluttered down her spine, as if the Bloody Baron had run his chains over it.

"Not alive. Well. Not strictly speaking," he said. "But. Like I said." He laid a hand over her throat. "You can feel this. Can't you?"

Making to pry his fingers with her wand, she discovered it did little good. It was as if he couldn't feel the sting of it, as if he were carved of stone. But when she pushed him away with her bare hands, he shifted under her touch like wind.

"What are you?" she said.

"I am the Seal," he said.

All at once the shadows of the castle collided about him like waves, and the light, too, as if he held them all in balance. In all her dreams she had never seen such a thing. But she knew it, deep, dark, true. All along the walls and the wind and the leaves had whispered its chords. Now the melody unfurled before her like wildfire. It felt—like home.

She buried the thought.

"Seven years ago, that night..." He gazed about the room. Scowled. "…I was unsealed."

The light and the dark faded into the universe then. Step by step, she traipsed the length of shadow that led to him. Ghosts didn't have shadows. He seemed to have answers. But were they worth it?

"Tell me more," she said, never easing her wand arm.

"You were there," he said. "You should not have been able to reach so far in. All who do so are magically repelled. Such is the nature of seals. But that night…you trespassed, further than any who have attempted in the past. And you heard my voice. No," he paused, "I _spoke_. My thoughts had found shape. Something of me had begun leaking into the realm of the living once more."

_Once more?_

"Why?" she said.

"Because that night, the being I sealed escaped unto the world," he said. "You have since witnessed it, as you might recall. It found you. Chased you here. I _saved_ you from it. But I could do no more. I can do no more. I am but a trace of an existence." He gripped her wrists then, but this time his hands felt hot and dry, and cut her like rope. "You felt its power. Its danger. If you want to protect all you hold dear, you _will_ help me seal it once more."

No.

"I am not giving you a choice. "

The wind was beckoning.

"This is the fulfillment of your life debt. Let me train you. Teach you."

The shadows were stirring.

"And we will subdue it before it casts the world into flame."

_Do not forget._

It seemed to her then that all her wandering and madness and isolation had led her to this very moment. At the truth of it she felt nothing but cold and fire.

"Why me," she hissed. Her fury coalesced about her. "Tell me. _Why me._" All those years she hid. "Give me one reason for all of it. Why me. Why me!"

He clenched her shaking form. Found the deep in her eyes.

_Home._

She tore her spirit away but it was all around her, cloying. Home. _Home_. She didn't understand a word of it.

"You are the one of the Middle. You have heard its song."

His eyes traced the dip of her neck.

"It is all of you. In your bones. In your blood. I smell it. "

He curved her hair above her left ear and grazed his nose over a hidden patch of skin. She shivered. How could he have known—

"Mikasa Ackerman."

She couldn't move. He could've thrown it from a thousand yards away and she wouldn't have been able to move.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"I am your past," he said. "Your present." Tipped her chin with finger—had he hovered so tall a few moments ago? "Your future."

_It can't be…_

"The last living heir of Ackerman. Before you."

All the little hairs on her arms came to life.

"Do not think I am blind to your suffering, Mikasa Ackerman," he said. "I will give you what you need. I will teach you to understand all of it. All that you have been denied. And I will set you free."

The weight of her life pulled down, down, down.

"Bullshit," she said. Lowering her wand, she touched the mark behind her left ear. Why couldn't she just walk away? She was half-sick of shadows. He wanted to chain them to her.

But the answers. The shriek of the walls. The never-silence. Someone who understood, who held it in balance. A life for a life. No—not quite. Both ways. Either way.

Home.

"Mikasa."

_NO!_

"Not interested," she said. Barely a blink later, she threw herself over her broom, and zipped down the stairs.

"Mikasa!"

_Almost there—_

"STOP RIGHT THERE!"

The words boomed from the entryway. Surely he couldn't have…? But it didn't sound like him—

_Oh, shit._

"You ill-mannered brat!—oh."

Five wands aimed straight at them.

"Miss Ackerman," said Headmaster Smith, "what is the meaning of this?"

* * *

TBC

WOO HOO WOO HOO Levi finally appears! And surprise surprise Mikasa doesn't take to him all that well. But that may change... ;)


	5. the bolt out of the blue

**IV. **the bolt out of the blue

Professor Smith's _lumos _sunk bright and cold in the grooves of his face. In a triangular formation behind him stood Professor Zoe, Professor Shadis, and Professor Pixis.

And Armin.

Armin's wand tip burned indigo and gold, but all the lights of the heavenly chariots could not have warmed his eyes then. Stranger. Friend. Like bone the words dug in her throat and combed through her roots as they came and went, nameless. Had it always been so? She remembered when he smiled at her the way kindness did. Instinct. Someday—again. She knew more than she knew. For now his eyes were water, the kind that bubbled and steamed, furious, then fell, airless, flat, sterile. Nevertheless she took it as it was given. The Professors looked at her as if she held the key to their fear and wonder, but Armin's filmy blue gaze sought nothing and guarded everything.

"We sensed a dark presence. It led us here," said Professor Zoe, eyes flying between Mikasa and the spectre behind. "Who is—?"

"Hold," said Professor Shadis. He crossed forth, stiff and trembling, until his _lumos_ descended upon the unearthly plane of the spectre's face.

"It can't be…"

As he crumpled to the floor, his wand slipped from his fingers. Disturbed, Mikasa made to step away, but Professor Smith held up a firm hand.

"Remain where you are, Miss Ackerman!" he said. "We must ascertain to what degree the safety of the castle has been compromised. Now, Armin!"

A bright bolt of light exploded behind Mikasa. She rolled onto the ground, the hairs on her neck stiff and resonant with energy. Above her, the tip of Armin's wand smoked. The length of his right arm was charred, and what remained of his sleeve flung back to reveal an insignia carved into his forearm. She couldn't quite find its shape in between all the blood and the burning. The blinding.

_What was that…?_

Cupping a hand over her eyes, she squinted. A screen of blue light crackled over the archway that led up the tower, and kept the spectre from moving beyond.

"I am rather offended," he said.

"It is only a precaution," said Professor Smith.

Kneeling, the spectre picked up Professor Shadis's wand, and ran a pale finger along its length. Then he drew his arm back, as if handling a bow, and flung the wand through the screen of light.

It passed. Professor Zoe caught it in its tracks.

"Interesting," said the spectre.

"I designed it," said Professor Zoe. "It interferes with small objects comprised solely of middle-matter."

_Middle-matter…?_

"…A precaution," said Professor Shadis. Seizing Professor Pixis's proffered hand, he heaved himself up. Mikasa could almost hear his bones creaking.

"Is it possible that you recognize this young man?" said Professor Pixis.

"Of course," he grunted, crossing his arms. "I recognize every brat who has passed through the gates of this school in the last one hundred-and-twenty-three years."

"Bloody _hell_, I thought you looked familiar," said the spectre. His scowl, which had appeared when Professor Zoe implicitly lumped him in the category of small objects, drew deeper into his thin lips. "Haven't gone and kicked the bucket already, old coot?"

Professor Shadis let out a phlegmy, nasty choke. It took Mikasa a full five seconds to register that it had been the first attempt at a laugh she had witnessed the grim old man make in the seven years she had torn about the Quidditch court under his hawkish watch. Professor Zoe seemed to feel the same way, for she jumped back and nearly crashed on her bum.

"Hah-hahahah! I could say the same for you...Professor Ackerman."

Armin gasped. At once he clamped his unburned hand over his mouth. Mikasa took in his clammy countenance and resolved to confront him later.

"Are you certain, Keith?" said Professor Smith.

"Why don't you ask me yourself?" said the spectre. Or was it Professor Ackerman?

"Still the same rude little man. You haven't aged a day," said Professor Shadis, squinting. "Not since…"

**"No."**

At the thunder in his voice, the walls trembled, and the screen of light flickered. Armin leapt forth and made to cast the shield once more, but Professor Smith caught his arm. He bit back a hiss. Despite everything, Mikasa winced at his pain.

"It is not their place to know," said the spectre. His eyes were blank as slate once more, revealing neither fury nor power.

"And it is mine?" said Mikasa.

They looked at her, then, and she wished she had kept silent. But something like irritation itched under her tongue.

"Perhaps certain things are not ours to understand," said Professor Smith, "but where the safety of the students are at stake, the professors must intervene. A terrible danger descended upon the school tonight. We attempted to locate it at once, and found _you _here. With a ward of the school. A student under my care." He swept before her and cast his robes back, obscuring her view of the spectre. "Before we allow you to proceed, prove you are not a danger to the students of the castle. Prove your intentions!"

A terrible silence descended then, thick with the odor of burned skin. Three weak flickers later the screen that separated the dead and living dissolved into the night.

"I've really got to improve on that," said Professor Zoe. "Would you mind terribly being my test subject, Professor Ackerman? I promise it won't be a nuisance at all."

"Look," said Mikasa. "Whatever it is that you're asking me to do, I won't do it. I've made my choice."

_…All those years ago. _

_Eren…_

_...but the voices…_

She felt herself seized by the collar and slammed against the wall. The stone was a slab of ice on her back, but the spectre's fingers were hot and rough like rope. All at once she felt the rush of dying, the clench, no, the song—

"Impertinent child. You are the heir of Ackerman_,_" he hissed, and the mark behind her ear burned. _"You know the true choice!"_

The world was an explosion of shouting and light. Mikasa pushed all of it away. With a snarl, she clamped her fingers over the spectre's, and peeled them away with all her strength.

"If I must do this," she spat, burying her nails in the smoky skin of his palm, "then don't speak as if I have a choice in any of it. Because I never have."

In the corner of her eye, Armin looked away.

The professors kept their wands brandished but moved not a hair as she spoke. Each jet of light they shot at the man melted into his back like rivers that fed into sea.

"I'm glad you understand," he murmured.

She drew him into her eyes then. Wanted him to crash against the waves of her fury until he drowned in them and left her far and alone. But he stared back, unblinking, and she found herself entombed under the narrowing of his shadowed gaze.

"The heir of Ackerman, you say," muttered Professor Smith. "I am beginning to see it. Yes."

"The prophecy," whispered Armin.

Mikasa whipped her head.

"How did you—"

Ah. Of course.

Ofcourseofcourseofcourseofcourseofcourseofcourseofcourseofcourse

off-courseofcourseofcourse

"You...betrayed me," she said. Screamed. "_Liar!_"

The stone at her feet glowed like coal. About her the walls screeched and cracked, forming and reforming in song and sorrow. And the wind. She wanted to fly away to its first whispers, where the sound burst forth before it echoed, infinite. _Armin was her friend._ The mermaids sang it each to each, each to each, never to her, never to her.

**"STOP."**

Mikasa opened her eyes.

The ceilings that hung loftily for millennia had turned to gravel at her feet. A steady arc of light burst from Professor Smith's wand, shielding his group from harm. Amid the dust and the night, the archway to the northern tower stood, unmarred.

The spectre's hands stretched before him as if making to deflect an incoming blow. His cloak had blown to tatters, revealing an oddly Muggle-like outfit comprising loose black pants, a silk shirt, and an old-fashioned white neck scarf.

She looked at her hands. Amid the lines that ran over her palm lay tiny, bloodless cuts. They looked like words and stung all over.

"You...don't know…how to control this," panted the spectre. He never seemed more flesh-and-blood until then. "But you know...how to harness it."

"…"

Mikasa turned back to her hands. Then she looked at Armin and the burning in his arm, in his eyes. Saw all his imperfections and hurts and regrets. All he turned from. She was not the only one who had lost. And now...

_Now…_

The walls crumbled at her feet.

And the spectre...

Feeling a prickling in the back of her head, she turned, and found Headmaster Smith staring at her.

_Just now..._

The spectre had stopped her.

___He is...not dangerous._

_But I am._

A strange, crooked smile stole over Professor's Smith face.

She averted her eyes.

_Eren_…

_I must keep Eren safe_.

_I must stay free._

"Tell me everything from the beginning," she said, and listened to the wind.

* * *

—_I have no excuse for this oversight. Please do with me as you see fit._

—_Do not grovel__, child. It was not your doing…this time._

—_You are merciful, my Redeemer. But…this was quite—unexpected._

[A deep, groaning laugh.]

—_The balance is not easily disturbed._

—_Yes…but I keep full belief that our plans will come to fruition. _

—_Speak not impertinently, child. It is hardly a matter of belief. _

—…_of course not, my Redeemer._

—_It is a matter…of time._

* * *

TBC


	6. to divine

**V. to divine**

* * *

"Levi Ackerman," said Professor Shadis, eyes dark with decades of mania. No burden of gravity or rusted knees could have held him back from pacing to rot the few square feet of intact floor under Headmaster Smith's shield. "Yes, yes. Five-foot-three. They tried to name you seeker, I remember. Hah! Five-foot-three _and _nine-point-eight stone. Ridiculous. Absolutely not! You were far more suited to beater—the best to come out of Slytherin, even for a century after, can you imagine! Yes, of course. They trained you well, didn't they. Yes, yes."

"Who did?" said Professor Pixis.

"…The First family," said Levi. Curling his lip, he brushed his shirt and pants. As far as Mikasa could tell, no dust had settled on his smoky, incorporeal form, but it seemed almost as if he were indulging in an old habit.

"Might you be referring to the First family of Ackerman?" said Headmaster Smith.

"Why, no other," said Professor Shadis.

"How very interesting," said Professor Zoe. "May I procure a vial of your blood, Professor Ackerman?"

Beat.

"If you sorry lot would allow me a word in," said Levi, "perhaps we could get to the heart of the matter?"

Perhaps it was his short, clipped words. Or the deep glower etched in the crease of his eyebrows. Or the way he slouched, elbows crossed, as if to shield some dark truth from evaluation. There was something about him that itched at her to the very core of her being.

"Of course. Our apologies."

"Good."

Crossing his arms, he marched up to Mikasa, until they were toe-to-toe. She refused to give an inch, and put out an urge to step on his shoes. It unnerved her, how he came up to her eyes, but leaned over her-_dominated_ her-as if he were two whole heads taller. The air about him stirred like a cold, heavy miasma that made her eyes water and her head spin.

"You. Have you heard of the linchpins of Ackerman?"

"...How would I have?" Mikasa frowned. "It might've been different in your time, sir, but we don't speak much of the Ackerman anymore." _We only piss on them; wipe our feces on them; shove them down, down, down that great sewer of human feeling._

"It is regrettable," said Professor Smith. "The Wizarding World has far too long a memory for grudges, and far too poor a taste for truth. But please, do explain these linchpins you speak of." He narrowed his eyes. "I do not recall learning of them from even the most esoteric of scrolls that speak of the arcane arts."

"That is how it should be." Levi clicked his tongue, and Mikasa winced at the sharp clip of it. "But looks like today's your lucky day, lad. This here…" He strolled to the archway of the tower—the last structure standing amid the destruction—and patted it. "This here…was the channel that bound the six linchpins of Ackerman. The last line of defense between your world—and the world-in-between."

"The Middle realm," whispered Armin. Mikasa pushed down the twinge she felt at the tumult in his voice. She would sort out her feelings later.

"The Ackerman Clan," said Levi, "has long harbored a special connection—no, _resonance_—with the middle realm. Death. Life. Rebirth. Time. And the Future." He stared at his hands. Touched the back of his left ear. "Long have they been mysteries. But those of the Clan can see them. Interpret them. Understand them...in their original forms."

_Oh, _thought Mikasa, eyes wide. The song.

"..._Divination_," whispered Professor Zoe. "But how could that be possible? There are no known means..."

"It is in our blood," said Levi. He leaned into Mikasa's eyes, and she took it in, took him in, blues and greys, reluctant, regretful, storm-like.

"The face of the world-in-between once flowed like sea throughout this land," he said. "Fire-birds. Stone gateways between the living and the dead. All these were part of the world. But not long after, our predecessors, dissatisfied with the limitations of magic, sought to harness this wild element."

Mikasa's fingers flew over her wand. She blinked. Why had she done that?

"Countless men gave their lives in the pursuit of it. But to give up one's life was not enough. No. To draw upon the deepest and most esoteric of powers, one's deepest ties to the world must be renounced." He drew in a deep, slow breath. "One's blood."

"And so it came to pass that six of our kind sacrificed their blood for the chance to harness the powers of the unknown. The mysteries that once roamed wild and free were locked within six objects of man. Thus the creation of the linchpins came to pass.

But the mystery of understanding was far too deep for any man to bear. The six masters grew old, weary, mad.

Yet they were never able to rid themselves of the linchpins. They had given up up too much of themselves. And those descended from their bound blood would forever be tied to the middle. None would be able to escape. Not even in death."

His lips twitched a little—just enough for Mikasa to catch. She wondered then what it felt like to die and return, die and return.

"Human nature being what it is," he rolled his eyes, "the descendants of the six began fighting for control over the linchpins. Those were years of great bloodshed and loss. But the world has a way of keeping things in _balance_, and the six bloodlines were visited by a great vision." With a snort, he strolled to the archway. "Well, I don't know what they saw, but it portended—and changed—everything. Thus the six lines united as one, and took on the name Ackerman, after the greatest of them—the warrior line of Ackerman. The First family." He narrowed his eyes. "From which I am descended."

"Very interesting," said Professor Smith. "But what does this mean for us?"

"The six linchpins kept the realms in balance," said Levi. "They were corporeal objects that channeled the incorporeal energy of the middle realm." Pacing about the archway, he looked every bit the professor, despite the absence of his swishing robes. "But they were volatile, and though all of my clan were born with the right of blood, few members of us could harness their power without sustaining lasting damage to their being. It requires a certain natural aptitude, you see...a certain strength of mind. And it is fatal for a single person to channel all of it at once. But a hundred years ago—"

"The Unholy War," Mikasa blurted out. She was beginning to see how it all came to be. (And the voices. But they were silent, for the first time, as if they, too, were listening.)

"Yes," said Levi, raising his eyebrows. "Though I am not fond of the name. It implies something very different from the reality at the time." Here, he paused, and gazed into the wild night sky. "It is true there was nothing holy about what happened. But unholy is not the correct word. No. That day...someone sought to channel the six linchpins for a single, dark purpose—to disturb the _balance_ of the worlds. And dark, which had stood in tandem with light since the beginning of our world, overwhelmed light for the first time. Chaos reigned in those years. The dark stole children who never should have been hers."

Something twisted in his eyes then, but fled just as fast. Mikasa drew her fingers into clammy fists as he returned before her.

"Well, essentially, I tried to correct the imbalance." He frowned. "Drawing together what remained of the six linchpins, I performed a powerful bit of blood magic, and gave up my existence—and the divinatory powers of man—to seal away the excess darkness. And it worked." He stopped before her. Stared deep into her eyes. "Until…" A beat. Odd. "…Seven years ago."

Mikasa saw herself as a First-Year then, hearing the voice for the first time. The prophecy and the dream. The white eyes and the six swords.

"And this is where our story connects with yours," said Headmaster Smith. "For seven years ago, a _prophecy_, a relic of the divinatory arts...was made. And seven years ago…"

"…Grisha Yeager died."

All the blood that thrummed in Mikasa's ears came to a halt then. Shock. No. A confirmation. She had always known. Somehow, she had always known. No. That man knew how. The walls and the wind. He was their kin.

Armin looked on, wordless.

_Traitor...?_

_No._

_I knew_ _first._

And Headmaster Smith knew it.

He plunged on.

"Our unit has gathered evidence that former Deputy Headmaster Grisha Yeager was killed and possessed by a powerful, dark entity one night seven years ago," said Headmaster Smith. "One whose origins seemed entirely alien. Further laboratory research yielded the conclusion that the composition of the magical atmosphere had changed since that night. Fortunately, Professor Shadis was familiar with the contaminant elements, and identified them as some of the very same ones that had vanished a hundred years ago. Imagine my astonishment to confirm that it had all been real, and was real once more!" He smiled, and Mikasa was struck by how young he looked then. "Armed with uncertain knowledge about the character of the northern tower and of Miss Ackerman's prophecy, we deduced that the possession of Grisha Yeager was connected to the disappearance and reappearance of the arcane elements. But today you have confirmed…the truth." A glint steeled his eyes. "And you have confirmed that we share the same purpose."

Levi raised a slow eyebrow. "And what might that be."

"We seek to banish the dark entity from our world," said Headmaster Smith. "You have valuable knowledge. But so do we. Our unit can provide you with the resources to achieve your goal." He stretched out a hand. "Join our effort, Levi."

"No." He crossed his arms. "You have no idea what you are putting your men up against."

"Untrue," said Professor Zoe. "We conduct reconnaissance and deploy our forces against the 2G—ah, sorry, the second-generation middlemen—on a regular basis." She pushed her heavy spectacles up the bridge of her nose. "But that is hardly enough to stop them. They're like cockroaches...step on one, and ten more emerge from the woodwork." She bared her teeth. "But if you joined us...we would be able to strike at the source."

"And let's not forget that _you_ require Miss Ackerman's aid." A slow, frosty smile spread across Headmaster Smith's lips. "As Headmaster, I cannot simply allow you to steal away one of Hogwarts' most promising witches...can I?"

_I don't want _any_ part in this,_ thought Mikasa, but a strange bit of intuition kept her mouth shut.

Didn't she have a choice in the matter?

"Wait. There's something you're overlooking, too," said Armin. Pushing up from the floor, he unfurled his spine, and stood as straight as she had ever seen him. A soldier. Almost. "What makes you think sealing the darkness would work a second time? How _exactly_ do you plan on going about it?"

Levi said nothing.

Mikasa looked at her hands. The bloodless cuts swam like words in her head. She couldn't make them out with her eyes.

"So what if I do this," whispered Mikasa. "So what if I do every thing you say. Will I disappear, then?"

Would any of them care?

Weary of the world, she wanted nothing more then than to return to her four-poster in the dark warmth of the dungeons.

"You...You can't just send Mi— a _student_ to her death," said Armin. "Can you?"

Mikasa caught his eye. He looked like the boy who shared her loneliness and fear for so many years.

"Can you?" She said. Ambling toward the pale, pulsing arc of the shield, she stopped by the boundary of the Headmaster's shadow. He had no words for her then, caught between his platitudes and his truths.

_Do you have the right to ask this of me?_

With a long sigh, she pivoted, and returned to that place where she once stood, arms outstretched, as the walls and the world collapsed at her feet. A shadow with no name had descended over Levi's face. But as soon as she began to ponder its origin it dissolved into the night.

"…There is an alternative," said Levi. He lowered his head. "The ritual I used was...very unstable. Perhaps it is too much to hope it will do a better job this time. But…" He scanned the debris about him. "It seems that you channeled the residual energy of the tower. That means…"

"I did...what?" said Mikasa. She raised her hands to her eyes.

_Release us_, the cuts hissed. _Release us!_

She dropped them at once. Wanted to burn them with the rest. A long shadow arrived before her then. She made to push it away, but it caught her by the indents in her wrists.

"You have the ability," murmured Levi. He was too sudden, too close, and she felt hot and cold all at once.

But his hands...

Had they always felt like...

...skin?

"Let me train you," said Levi. He looked a shade more alive where the sunrise feathered pink and gold over his pale countenance. "At the very least, you should learn to control yourself. And..." He bowed his head. "...this is the most I can do."

"What's the plan, then, boy?" said Professor Shadis.

"The energy sealed within the original linchpins scattered over the land seven years ago." He drew his lips tight and thin. "Perhaps they have found new foci to inhabit. No—that is not quite correct. It is more likely they have found their way _back_. Back to where the world-in-between resonated strong and wild...far before the linchpins came to existence." The dark of night was fading to a clear, watery hue of blue, and the shadows in Levi's eyes with them. "If we can locate them, you should be able to harness their power. Then you will be able to fend off the darkness, and force it to return to the world-in-between. And _your_ world will be safe once more."

_A safe world..._

_Eren..._

"...Will I disappear, after that?" said Mikasa.

A silence. The sun peeked above the earth, but her face found none of its warmth.

"That is the sort of possibility that will always exist," said Levi. He held onto her wrists and her gaze. "But this is the choice we must make."

"Then it's no choice at all," said Mikasa.

For all the threats he had flung at her earlier, he gave her a moment of silence, and released her from his grasp. The skin of her wrists hummed, and the blood under it raced all over.

Strange_._

What did she want? To protect Eren.

But Doctor Yeager was dead.

What did she want? To stop hearing the voices.

But they were in her blood.

What did she want? To find a place in the world.

But she was alone.

Or was she?

She lifted her head. Levi looked at her as if she held the world in her hands. As if she would let it fall—nay, crush it under her feet—before he could catch it.

She didn't want any part in it. She never did.

To disappear...

What did that mean?

But—there were things she had always yearned to understand. Bits of song she hummed along with in those rare moments where the leaves rustled in the sun and dreamily whispered: _beauty, beauty, beauty_.

And here was someone who _understood_ her. Far more than she knew.

She wanted to learn more of it. No. All of it.

And if she could become stronger, protect Eren along the way—

If these were the terms of her debt—

Perhaps she could make the best of it.

She would.

"You will teach me all I seek to know," she said.

The heaviness about him lifted a little then. He released a ragged, short breath, and drank in her gaze so earnestly that the beat of her heart blurred in ears.

"I will." He brought his right hand to his heart. "I promise."

"Excellent," said Headmaster Smith. With a tilt of his lips, he collapsed his shield. "Now, before we draw our encounter to a close—it appears the castle has a plan of her own."

"Wha—"

From the archway of the northern tower shot a bolt of light. It fell in a ring about Levi's feet. Mouth ajar, Mikasa watched as golden beams rose and darted over him until he was obscured behind a cloud of luminescent dust.

"What the...?" said Armin.

As the powdery light dissipated into sunrise, Levi's silhouette found shape and color once more. His eyes were wide, and held none of the glower Mikasa had come to expect.

The enchantment left him swathed in dark, rich robes of indigo, trimmed in fine, pale gold. Embroidered along his sleeves were ancient representations of the constellations, linked together by silvery knots that denoted the planets. Over his heart lay a crest—an 'A' girdled by six moons.

_So this is Ackerman_, she thought, wondrous.

"This—is unexpected," said Levi.

"Ha-hahah-hahahah!" said Professor Shadis. He erupted in a violent fit of phlegm. "Welcome back."

"Yes," said Headmaster Smith. Stepping forward, he held out his hand. "Welcome back, Levi Ackerman—Professor of Divination."

* * *

TBC

AND THERE YOU HAVE IT. I'VE BEEN WAITING TO WRITE THIS SCENE FOR SO LONG

Also Levi's glittery mahou shoujo/barbie princess outfit transformation that no one wanted 8)

If you read this far plz review plz PLZ PLZ T_T I really do get motivated to write more really REALLY REALLY REALLY

if you review i will be writing fic for u instead of doing work. so what are you waiting for~

Also if you're curious about the structure of the Ackerman clan as pertaining to this fic (like the First Family stuff), I elaborate more on it on my post at:

chronic-aesthete dot tumblr dot com /post/91261669488/fic-aid-draconite


	7. obliviate

**VI. obliviate**

* * *

_The Department of Mysteries_

Strange objects made strange homes in these shelves. To her right: shrubs of pale cauliflower tissue appended by veiny, bruised cords that knocked and thrashed against their bubbly cages. Below them wobbled fate-thin spheres that ensconced fields of world-matter and star-death, some darkly primitive, others alight with ultraviolet ash. What fascinated her was how the rows bled into rows bled into rows. She drifted among them, one of them, before them, after them, god-like, man-like.

In a manner of speaking this was her childhood home, with little of the sentiment. In her formative stages she had been little more than specks of soul-dust that had settled in the grooves of time. There they found her, dusted her up, fashioned her a vessel and a name:

"Historia."

"Minister Reiss."

"Must I keep reminding you to call me Father?"

Names had never moved her. She slid two fingers in her sleeve and drew out a square of blank parchment.

"The report. Owl mail has been compromised. Communications remain under heavy scrutiny by Smith and the target. I thought it better not to take the risk."

"I see. Unfold it, then."

Lacerating his arm with a dagger, he sifted his blood across the parchment. The rivulets wept into spidery words. Paying little heed to the wound-fluids soaking his sleeves, he plucked the report from her grasp.

"How are you finding your classes?"

"I've coordinated them with the target's."

"Good girl." Tapping his wand to the report, it erupted in pale fire. "It appears we were right to send you in from the very beginning. Come. I would like to show you something."

She weaved through the shelves and jogged after him into a cold, clammy chamber. Something in the middle of the room glimmered bright and silver. It seemed to be a doorway of sorts—arched, stone-hewn, and lined with translucent fog. Inching closer, she began to discern low whispers breaking from the powdery mist.

_Hhh…._

_What on earth?_ she thought, and edged forward.

_...Hhhiii…._

_...Histo...ria…._

"Ugh!"

Wrenching back, she twisted her feet in time to avoid tripping over the hem of the Minister's blood-soaked robes. He seemed not to acknowledge her peculiar withdrawal, for his eyes, wide with wonder and fear, were affixed to the crown of the archway.

"Behold," he said, "the Veil."

_Didn't he hear that…?_

"...What is it?"

"We have our theories," said the Minister. "According to our predecessors' records it ceased all activity a century ago. And yet—here it lies, awake. Since the previous night."

"You don't think there is a connection?" She thought of how her words had twisted to ash.

"Oh, far more than that, my dear Historia." The Minister chuckled, a long, pitchy wheeze. Lifting his face to the ghoulish, grey light, he basked in the phantom breeze streaming through the archway. "And we cannot let this knowledge fall into the wrong hands."

"The target?"

"Leonhardt is but one of our enemies," said the Minister. "No…there is another. Come."

Tracing in her memory the gauzy outline of the arch with a last, lingering gaze, she trudged out the chamber, down the halls lined with golden hourglasses, and pushed past a heavy door decorated with a brass plaque that loudly proclaimed: "HOGWARTS SURVEILLANCE."

"It has been a while," she said, and surveyed the room, within which large stone bowls and clocks with names etched over their faces resided. Something like homesickness came to her then. "Everything looks as it was."

"Not quite," he said. "Please examine the faculty monitor."

South to the entrance sat the faculty monitor, a white, marbled bowl that projected the professors' comings and goings onto the arc of the ceiling. Something appeared to be interfering with the image—nothing but white noise streamed forth. Frowning, Historia followed the hazy, holographic path, and peered into the bowl, where the names of the faculty _du jour_ were engraved.

_Headmaster—Erwin P. Smith_

_Assistant Headmistress & Potions Master—Hange G. Zoë_

_Professor of Arithmancy—Rico V. Brzenska_

_Professor of Astronomy—Nile M. Dok_

_Professor of Charms—Dot W. Pixis_

"I don't understand." She squinted. "What am I looking for—"

_Professor of Divination—Levi Ackerman_

Static. Her mind was all haze and hair crawling into skin. The dark disturbance of the previous night; Mikasa's frantic escape; the target's strange spot of thievery; Mikasa's strangeness; Levi Ackerman; Mikasa's nightmares Mikasa's phantoms Mikasa Ackerman; Mikasa, her _friend_—she knew it, she knew she did, and in the moment—

"How very odd," she murmured, and not a hint more.

"Yes. How very odd." He paced his little piece of the corner-less chamber. "The changes of late do not bode well for us. I cannot reveal more. Now—Historia. Your mission so far has been to keep Leonhardt under surveillance. Continue. But from this moment..." He thumbed his moustache. "…we are assigning you a target of higher priority."

"The professor?" She glanced at the monitor.

"No," he said. "Mikasa Ackerman."

* * *

_A few hours ago—_

"…I don't suppose we could take the rest of the day off?" said Armin, as the professors, scattered evenly about the rubble, began the arduous task of repairing the North Hall.

"That might be for the best." Professor Zoe stifled a yawn. "Both of you look completely beat."

"Yes," said Headmaster Smith. "Run along now, and do keep this to yourselves, though your classmates will certainly pry. And Armin—report to me in a few hours."

"Yes, sir."

Mikasa slit her eyes at them.

"Mikasa."

Drifting to her side, Levi rested a hand on her shoulder. It made her shiver to see him like this, festooned with sunrays and vibrant robes that might, in a forgotten world, have been the mark of a rare master. Between a second and a second it struck her how alien she was to her heritage, and how human his hand felt through the dusty scrap of robe that clothed her shoulder. Here, at last: a halfway-hope.

"Sir."

"I shall be instructing you. Every day. Starting tomorrow." He raised a hand to Headmaster Smith, who had made to gesture toward Armin. "I will take on no other student. Only you."

"…That's fine. Except I'm already taking the maximum course load. And it's NEWT year. _And_ I'm on the House team." She shared a glower with Professor Shadis.

"As much as it pains me to do so, I will interfere with the registrar charm to adjust your schedule, Miss Ackerman," said Professor Pixis. Mikasa winced—she had heard tales of the dreary, bureaucratic enchantment. "Divination was once a NEWT subject in its own right. If you are the sole student, then we could treat this as an Independent Study of a sort. Headmaster?"

"That is acceptable," said Professor Smith. "I apologize for the inconvenience, my dear friend. Now, Miss Ackerman—which class would you prefer replaced?"

"Well, if I really had to choose…" To a certain extent, she enjoyed all of her classes. But there was one in particular... "Perhaps Care of Common Creatures?"

"Let's see...Wednesdays and Fridays, from two to five in the afternoon," muttered Professor Pixis, as he drew intricate loops with the tip of his wand. "Professor Ackerman, are these times acceptable?"

"I don't see what else I'd be occupied with," said Levi. He tightened his grip over Mikasa's shoulder. "But I need her for longer than that. Take out Potions, too."

"You can't do that!" Mikasa and Professor Zoë sputtered in chorus.

"But! If I were to obtain a sample of your body matter…" Professor Zoë frowned. "Do you, perchance, excrete?"

"_Enough_, _Hange._" Professor Pixis looked for the moment as if he had aged another century. "Any time spent on Divination outside the assigned class slot should be arranged at the professor's discretion. Homework, if you will. An extracurricular, if you must."

"Or coercion," muttered Mikasa.

"Or _detention_," said Levi.

* * *

"I can't believe that bloody _goblin_," said Mikasa, as they left for their quarters. "Detention! And he's not even my professor yet!"

"You did destroy an entire hallway," said Armin.

She slowed to a halt.

"Because of you."

"Ah." Armin stopped by her. "Sorry."

With a short, cross sigh, Mikasa flung out her arm, and thumped Armin in the chest ("Ow!").

"Can we talk?"

"I don't know what to say, Mikasa."

"Just talk to me. Please," she said. Her knuckles shook, and her eyes began to prickle with warmth. "I don't know what's going on anymore. I don't know who to trust anymore. Please." Her voice cracked. "_Please_, Armin."

"Mikasa…"

He brought a warm, ashy hand to her cheek.

"I'm not worth crying over."

She tried. Really, she did. But the shock of nearly dying, of losing, of destroying, of gaining, of losing again, all in one night—it came down on her like earth. What are we, she wanted to say, but found her words buried under the convulsions of her throat, and settled for grasping his singed shirt.

"I wish you never trusted me," he whispered, and gently rested her head in the crook of his neck. Even there, even then, she took care not to rub against his scorched arm.

"Don't..leave me like this..." She wondered how it would feel to scar him with her nails, and dug her fingers in his back. He pulled her deeper. "…I…I trusted…you."

_With everything._

"I'm so sorry." He shook under her hands. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry—"

"_Mikasa!_" A thundering of feet and fury. "Is that you?!"

They jolted apart.

"Eren?" said Mikasa.

Advancing towards them, darting through sunlight and shadow, was Eren, clad in thin cotton pyjamas.

"Wha…" He jerked to a stop before them. "Armin! Your arm! What happened?! Where have you been? Why do you look so beat up? Why—Mikasa, are you..crying?"

She dragged a sleeve over her eyes.

"I'm fine, Eren."

"What do you take me for, a fool?" He pinched his eyebrows. "Look: the prefects were ordering us to evacuate when your friend Lenz came barging into our common room and started _screaming_ about how you were in danger, you were being chased by something, that sort of thing. I…I had to go find you." He gripped her shoulders and examined her at a frenetic pace, as if wounds might spontaneously flower over her body. "What happened, Mikasa? Are you hurt? Are you injured? Do you need to go to Hospital Wing? You too, Armin—" He paused. Took in the stagnant air between them, the heaviness in their eyes. "…What on earth happened here?"

Before Mikasa could respond, Armin drew out his wand.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He trembled. "_Obliviate."_

* * *

_TBC_


End file.
